• I’m stuck on the side of the moon with a man in his room for a utensil need and barnacle weed my calcium seeps and my blood’s running low. Computers and scooters and paragraph poems with indent and extent and marmalade jars.


    They told me, I heard them, they told me ‘twas so. The slave drive is halted, find a new mode, press ESC to continue a brick in the road & I don’t take tin cans with sobriety, sir, no I don’t take tin cans with sobriety.


    Make. The. Blood. B R O I L.